


The Creator's Image

by Laylah



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Captivity, M/M, Sketchy Android Programming, masochism?, torture?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13586811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: "You won't get anything out of my databanks. If you get close to sensitive data you'll trigger a system reformat."Adam comes to a stop in front of him, reaching out to catch his face in one blackened hand. "What if I want something that your programmers didn't classify as 'sensitive data'?"





	The Creator's Image

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1010nabulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1010nabulation/gifts).



_> Rebooting....._

_Boot sequence 25%... 47%... 63%... 79%... 92%..._

_Boot sequence complete._

_Body damage detected. System diagnostic commencing...._

9S opens his eyes, trying to get his bearings. For a second he thinks he's been recalled to the Bunker, because everything around him is white instead of the vivid colors of the surface. But if he's in the Bunker why does everything feel so—

He looks down.

There are blunt iron bars jammed through his body in at least three places, caked and dripping with blood. His arms are stretched out to either side of him, his hands similarly pinned and useless. The jangling of emergency signals through his operating system makes sense now. "9S to Operator," he says. "9S to Operator, I need an extraction. This body is compromised and no longer operable, requesting remote detonation."

He tries to access the local network to scan for nearby lifeforms and there's just.... nothing.

"9S to Operator," he tries again.

Movement at the edge of his field of vision catches his attention and he looks up. The figure coming toward him is dressed in black and white, alarmingly human in design, not any of the existing YoRHa models. "Adam?"

"You won't be able to reach your Operator," Adam says as he swaggers closer. "You're not connected to the network right now." He holds something up, glittering and bloody between his fingers, and after a second of delay 9S recognizes it as a chip. His wireless chip.

"What do you want?" he demands, and does his best to sound confident even if his options are terrible. He has no backup. He can't call for help. He can't detonate his black box alone. His body is too damaged for combat and nailed down so he can't flee. "You won't get anything out of my databanks. If you get close to sensitive data you'll trigger a system reformat."

Adam comes to a stop in front of him, reaching out to catch his face in one blackened hand. It feels like his grip could crush skeletal structures if he wanted to. "What if I want something that your programmers didn't classify as 'sensitive data'?"

9S tries to find some clue in Adam's face what that could mean. What else does he _have_ that could be valuable?

Adam drops 9S's wireless chip and crunches it under one boot carelessly. "How much are you androids made in the image of your designers? Do you even know?"

"What?" It's a bizarre question. Why would a machine lifeform even care? "We look like them, yeah. Not like that's going to help you fight—"

"They could have made you look like anything," Adam interrupts. "And they made you look like them." He lets go of 9S's jaw. "And now _we_ look like _you_. But where does the mimesis break down?"

There has to be a point to this. Adam has to want something. With the emergency status reports still scrolling up the back of his mind 9S can't figure out what it is.

Adam's hand shoots out again, digging into one of the impalement wounds in 9S's torso. The background static of the emergency signals skyrockets into an overload of sensation and 9S tries to struggle, automatic routines activating to try to move him away from the danger. His sensory inputs sharpen and shift; he wants to move, to fight, to destroy the thing that's hurting him. And he _can't_ , his ruined hands pinned down, his wireless chip missing, all his attack vectors denied. The need keeps looping back on itself, feedback building into a cascade of errors that he can barely process, much less resolve—

The screaming feedback stops abruptly and after a second 9S realizes that Adam has pulled his fingers out of the wound. "Do they have some equivalent to _that_?"

"Yes," 9S says before he thinks to stop himself. "Pleasure. Love. We feel in battle the way they feel during sex." _We_ , he says, and doesn't mention the way he's never sure if he's really feeling it the way he's supposed to, the way 2B does.

"This is love?" Adam asks. "This is pleasure?" He plunges his fingers into 9S's side again and whatever he says next is lost in the static that overwhelms 9S's senses. The feedback is terrible and distracting and being unable to lash out in response _hurts_ , and the tension keeps building as Adam's fingers explore the vulnerable internal tissues of his damaged chassis. 

He can't answer until Adam pulls back again, and even then he's barely able to spare enough processor cycles to speak. "I don't know," he gasps. "All I have is the def—"

Pain again, Adam's sharp-bladed fingers twisting inside him, and everything turns to screaming static. Adam's voice is coming from somewhere close by but it's all 9S can do to record the sound for later—translating it into meaning is beyond him. The feedback loop keeps intensifying, taking up more and more of his memory. He tries to hack himself, a last resort as his body thrums with need he can't resolve, but his processor is sluggish and unresponsive and the routine barely starts, his cursor idling instead of breaking down threats.

It's not enough, not working, and the hacking routine crashes before he's gotten through the first layer of code. Adam is so close, murmuring words right into his ear, lips moving against his skin, and 9S's mouth works helplessly as commands fire half-formed. The feedback encroaches throughout his operating system, the unbearable sensations of the bars pinning him in place and the slick invasive exploration of Adam's fingers, his body trembling and seizing and—

The sensations crest in a howl of noise and static, his system overloading and his vision whiting out as his body shakes, wrecked and beyond his control—

_> Rebooting....._

_Boot sequence 25%... 46%... 64%... 75%... 89%..._

_Boot sequence complete._

_Body damage detected. System diagnostic commencing...._

9S opens his eyes, trying to get his bearings. Everything feels wrong. His body is heavily damaged. His data feels corrupt. He can't move. His surroundings are all white like the Bunker, but in the Bunker he's never felt so damaged, so _compromised_. "9S to Operator."

"Hush," Adam says, and 9S startles at his presence. How long has he been there? "You still can't call home." His eyes are bright, his smile wide. "But your girlfriend just found the entrance to my Copied City, so we'll have company soon. Will she have more entertainment to offer me than you do?"

"Leave her alone!" 9S says, which is illogical: 2B is much better equipped to handle Adam than he is.

"I'm sure she'd say the same thing about you," Adam says, patting 9S's cheek condescendingly. He turns toward the empty plaza below them, as the click of footsteps becomes audible inthe distance. "Let's find out."


End file.
